


whatever it takes

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Child Derek Hale, Coping with trauma, Dark Peter Hale, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Domestic Fluff, Growing Up, Hale Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peter Hale takes care of Derek Hale, Peter Loves It, Protective Peter Hale, Serial Killer Peter Hale, Sheriff Stilinski has no idea what Peter does for living, Slice of Life, Warning: Kate Argent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-06 10:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Peter is a serial killer, just trying to make a living. He doesn’t expect to be saddled with a traumatized werewolf childjustas he's in the middle of his biggest project yet, but he is.Though now that Peter has Derek? He's never, ever letting him go.*





	1. The beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most self indulgent fic I've ever written. I hope you enjoy serial killer!Peter taking good care of his nephew! Updates are hopefully weekly!

Dragging the thick ropes into the corner of the room, Peter ignores the screams of the man he has tied up in a chair. He’s placed it strategically in the middle of the room, just under the brightest lamp in the damp cellar. And the darkest spot on the floor. It’s barely been an hour since he came down to greet his guest, but it’s very apparent his victim is far from pleased. In fact, the man seems to have found the wet-works already, bawling his eyes out.

Peter sighs.

Hunters can be so adorably weak when they no longer have the upper hand. It’s not often that the humans find themselves in the role of the tortured. And Peter has seen how this man treats werewolves, the peaceful, the children, the rogue, and knows how he breaks them. 

In turn, Peter will now break him.

‘’Now, now,’’ he tuts, going through the man’s weaponry he harvested. ‘’Please quiet down. We’ve barely even gotten to know each other. There’s no need for such dramatics. In the next however many hours, we’ll be a lot more intimately acquainted, which is when you’ll be hard pressed not to cry your eyes out.’’ He pauses, pushing the pouch of mountain ash to the side. ‘’Depending on your endurance, of course.’’

The man curses him through the gag, rattling at his chains. He’s sobbing, rather pitifully for a forty year old man who just  _ hours  _ ago tried to gleefully inform Peter how he’s going to enjoy killing him. Peter just shakes his head. He hasn’t even drawn  _ blood  _ yet and the hunter is already pissing himself.

There’s a surprising amount of knives in the man’s collection, and certain carvings catch his eye. Lifting the wolfsbane covered knife, he turns back to his victim with a wide, rather honest smile. ‘’Now  _ this  _ is a sight for the sore eyes. Where on earth did you acquire an artifact of this caliber?’’

The man’s breath stutters, his scent subtly changing from fear to confusion. He clearly says a muffled  _ ‘I don’t know’ _ , with a shrug of his shoulders. So  _ easy  _ to comply.

Studying his victim for a moment, Peter cocks his head in consideration. ‘’You have no idea of the value of this piece, do you? No, no, of course you don’t, or we wouldn’t be here at all,’’ he says, turning his attention back to the dagger in his hands. The white pearly blade glints in under the dim, orange lamps, the edges slightly purple from the mountain ash. There are intricate symbols carved into the handle, and the sharp edges of the blade, the blessings still active.

Testing the sharpness of it, he walks up in the middle of the room and pushes the knife into the wooden chair where the hunter is tied to. It almost melts into the wood, splintering part of the seat as he pushes it forward. ‘’You could easily get around three million dollars for this, in the supernatural black market,’’ he confesses carelessly, enjoying the way the hunter’s eyes widen in shock. ‘’This is a sacred dagger. It has been wielded by the aboriginals, blessed by their gods. You simply cannot get this type of mineral from anywhere anymore, and only ten of these have been made with this specific blessing. It’s a rarity even within the human society, and you could have made a good money with just selling this on ebay.’’

Pulling the knife out of the chair, Peter grins darkly. ‘’Now, this - ‘’

He stops mid sentence, hearing his phone beep as it vibrates in his pocket. Curiously, he fishes the device out and sees the  _ ‘intruder alert’  _ message splayed on the screen. 

‘’How peculiar,’’ he mutters, unlocking the screen. With a couple taps, he finds the surveillance feed of the cameras in his property. There’s been a hailing storm raging over them for the past couple days, and even now, through the sound proofed walls of the cellar, he can hear the booms of lightnings that crack across the sky occasionally. 

The feeds are rather dark, no moon to lit up the midnight sky, but the distinct flashes of a car’s headlights are easy to spot. The red and blue lights that follow though, that.

That smells like trouble.

‘’Hmm.’’

The hunter flinches when Peter tosses the knife back onto the table. He’s fairly certain none of his schemes have left any traceable leads to the police department. There’s no evidence of him being in contact with any of his kills, certainly not in their properties, and he leaves exactly zero bodies behind.

It’s always best to be throughout.

There is absolutely no reason for any officers of the law to be climbing up to his house, this deep into the preserve while a strong storm is passing through. Most of the deputies at the station are complete buffoons, apart from a couple smart ones, but the sheriff always keeps deputy Stilinski and deputy Reid in low tasks, like guiding traffic. Potential perfectly wasted in menial things, when both of those officers could so easily be tracking down robbers and murderers. 

Stilinski was close, once, in cracking a kill Peter did, when Peter had barely started. But Peter was too good, even back then, and mountain lion population was rather culled to the minimum after his experimentation.

But no. The cruiser is clearly coming up his driveway with its flashing lights, which means that something has happened to pique the department’s interest in him. Though a quick visit at midnight with only two deputies? 

_ Lovely _ .

‘’It seems I have some unsolicited visitors,’’ he says to the hunter. He hasn’t bothered to even learn his name. He just caught the man unawares, assaulting one of the little werekits he had in his possession, some two counties over, and decided to see what the man was all about. 

And when he found out about the hunter’s disgusting business, Peter decided to quell his thirst for blood.

‘’I must apologize, but I will have to be excused for a moment. I dearly hope you don’t mind me popping out for a bit.’’ He pays no mind to the way the man trashes in his bonds, screaming his throat hoarse. Instead, he gathers his equipment and pushes a vial of sedative into the hunter’s arm, conking him out. Then he pulls a scratchy bag over the man’s head before he flicks the lights off and pushes the fake wall back in place. That separates his regular cellar from his workshop, in case someone came snooping around. 

Cursing that the cellar is only accessible through the outside, he locks the outer door and jogs the side of the house. He can see the flashing lights in the dark distance between the trees, and makes a rush for it as he gets himself inside.

As quickly as he can, he puts some random lights on in the house, as well as turning the television on, before he changes out of his wet clothes and into dry ones. As he’s drying his hair with a towel, he pushes a portion of mac and cheese into the microwave, letting it heat up, setting up a scene of a man settling down to watch friday night telly.

His hair is barely damp enough for him to pretend he’s just gotten out of the shower when there’s a ring of his doorbell, followed by two brisk knocks. Peter notes that nobody is announcing their police status, or demand that he open the door immediately with his hands in the air.

When he concentrates, he can hear two heartbeats. 

He puts the chain on and opens the door only a fraction. ‘’Hello?’’ he asks in an uncertain voice, though he is anything but. ‘’Can I help you?’’

‘’Peter Hale?’’ a man asks.

‘’Yes?’’

‘’I am deputy Haigh from the Beacon Hills police department. May I ask you to open the door? I come bearing news of your family.’’

Frowning, Peter unlocks the door and opens it, though he blocks them entrance. He doesn’t want strange scents in his den. In the dim-lit porch light he can see two figures standing, both rather sopping wet. The human, he scents, must be the deputy. The much smaller shadow, however, smells like  _ wolf _ .

Burning wood and ashes and blood too, but the  _ werewolf  _ part registers itself as more important. An omega, a  _ pup _ . He can practically see himself perking up at the tiny visitor. Damn alpha instincts.

The child, a young boy, is stoically clutching at a burned blanket, flinching whenever a loud boom of a lighting strikes through the sky.

Peter blinks rather stupidly. ‘’My family?’’

‘’I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Hale. But I’m afraid I come bearing some very, very bad news. On behalf of the entire BHPD crew, and the voluntary fire brigade, I must inform you that tonight, at six pm local time, a fire started at the Hale residence. It spread rapidly, burning the entire house into ground before any of the emergency personnel got to the site. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Hale, but. . .’’ The man sighs, his tone gentling. ‘’No other family member made it out alive. Derek is the only one who was outside of the house at the time, and wasn’t caught in the tragedy.’’

_ Oh _ . Understanding dawning in his face, Peter looks down at the little wolf pup. The grief is rather overwhelming, now that he focuses on it, and it’s clear that the young boy hasn’t really gotten past the shock of all of his pack bonds being ripped out. The seafoam green eyes are empty and lost, staring vacantly at Peter’s feet.

He moves his legs a little in the boy’s field of vision, but the pup doesn’t even blink. His tiny pricks of claws have come out, Peter notes, but his shift is otherwise in control. He briefly wonders why the deputy has brought this child to him, and gets his answer immediately as the officer continues his, clearly, practiced speech.

‘’You, as his uncle, are the only relative alive to take him in. The sheriff told us to bring him to you immediately, should you be willing to have him. Otherwise he’ll be spending the night at the station, before being shipped off to a social worker, and to an orphanage.’’

Peter watches, intrigued, as Derek finally catches a whiff of him, and realizes that he’s actually a werewolf as well. His eyes go big and round, red-rimmed at the edges as he looks up at him. His tiny mouth opens wide, scenting the air properly, tasting Peter’s scent.

It makes him crouch down onto the boy’s level, morbidly curious. There’s hope in the kid’s lost gaze, like he’s about to get a piece of his family back, even in the form of a strange werewolf. Or perhaps not so strange. Peter  _ has  _ had dealings with Talia before, so his scent must be at least recognizable to the boy.

Children have always been a rather endless source of entertainment and mystery to him, and he’s only once ever entertained the thought of getting one. As a gay man, his sources are a little limited though, and he has absolutely no interest in a relationship, since his job is not something he’s willing to explain to anyone.

Never mind the werewolf aspect.

The pup,  _ Derek _ , the officer had said, takes a hesitant step closer, sniffing timidly. Peter can barely hear his voice at all when he asks, ‘’Are you my uncle Peter?’’ 

It makes Peter pause.

He, does not in fact, have a sister, so nor is he an uncle. He is a Hale, yes, but not of  _ the  _ Hales, though clearly the tired police officer seems to assume. The entirety of Beacon Hills seems to be convinced he’s part of the Hales, just, always hanging on the fringes of the nuclear family. It has been his cover for so many years after all, so it’s no wonder they would think so. 

Sometimes he thought that even Talia suspected they might be somehow distantly related, and so Peter never really agreed or disagreed to it. It’s so very  _ useful  _ to have that peremptory trust from everyone.

‘’Yes,’’ Peter answers, after a short silence. ‘’I am an uncle. . . Peter.’’ He’s glad the pup still hasn’t gotten hang of on how to catch a lie in his heartbeat. 

‘’So you’re willing to take him then?’’ Officer Haigh asks, pushing the little boy forward into the house. 

Peter must be clearly out of his mind at the moment, but he nods an affirmative. He doesn’t know Derek. He has no place for a child in his house, no second bed, no toys, no games, no nothing. His work will make it almost impossible to carve a child shaped space into his daily routine and he has absolutely no idea how to handle small children.

_ Traumatized  _ small children.

Oh jesus. 

‘’Good,’’ Haigh approves. ‘’Come by the station tomorrow. We’ll have a social worker sign some papers, so we can get Derek officially adopted by you immediately, so he won’t fall into the cracks of the system. We’ll still need Derek’s statement for the fire, as he’s the only witness for it, but it’s not something that needs to be rushed. He refused to talk during the hours he was at the hospital being treated for smoke inhalation, but hopefully having at least one familiar figure will help settle him.’’

Humming, Peter makes just enough space for the boy to wriggle through the door so that none of the officer’s smells will whaft into his home. ‘’I’ll give the sheriff a ring when I’ll be coming down. You take care now.’’

‘’Thank you, Mr. Hale. It’s very kind of you to take your nephew in while suffering such devastating loss. If you need to talk to someone, we have therapists and crisis counselors at your beck and call. Just let us know.’’

‘’I will,’’ Peter says, watching as the deputy retreats into the cruiser. He doesn’t close the door before the car has gotten far enough that he can’t see it, and then he pushes it closed and clicks on all the locks.

Turning, he rests his hands on his hips and stares down at the boy. He looks miserable, wet and sad and  _ empty _ , the shock of all of his pack bonds being snapped creating but a shell of a child. 

There’s even soot in his face, clear tear tracks streaking his pale cheeks, and he’s looking uncertainly around, tightly hanging onto the dirty blanket.

Peter sighs. 

What has he gotten himself into?

  
  
  


*


	2. The first night

 

Peter considers the boy for a moment, letting him clamber into the warm bathtub by himself. The tub is only half full, so he thinks Derek probably won’t drown himself.

‘’Have you bathed by yourself before?’’ he asks, twitching with the barest attempt to help Derek as the pup slips a little before he settles down. Derek shakes his head in negative.

Figuring that asking is the only way to get through this, Peter nods, and says honestly,‘’Well, I’ve never bathed a child before. What can  _ you  _ do, and what do you want me to do?’’

Derek looks up at him in confusion. The water is green, thanks to the bath salts Peter owns, but there are no bubbles to preserve the boy’s modesty, nor anything for his entertainment. Cleaning the soot and dirt off of his body is the main priority though, so all the luxury things will come later when Peter has the chance to visit a grocery store.

‘’I can wash myself with a sponge,’’ Derek whispers quietly.

‘’Do you know how to wash your hair?’’

Looking down shamefully, the pup shakes his head. Peter just hums in concession, turning to rifle through the cabinets. He doesn’t have anything that would constitute as kids shampoo, but his regular will work just fine. There’s one luxury sponge he once splurged on, still in its packaging. Might as well gift it away. He hasn’t used it, after all.

Squirting a blob of blue body wash on the item, he hands the sponge over. ‘’Here. Make sure you scrub really well everywhere, but carefully, so the soap won’t get into your eyes.’’

Letting Derek handle himself for the moment, Peter spares a thought to the hunter tied in his cellar. There’s no way he’s going to be able to go and continue his interrogation today, if tomorrow either, with Derek in the house with him. In fact, he has no idea when he’s going to be able to continue his job. He’s so used to coming and going as he pleases that it’s been years since someone’s been actually waiting for him at home.

_ Wanting  _ him to come home.

It’s going to be an adjustment period, for both him and Derek. He wonders whether or not Talia and Robert put their kids through public schooling system. Derek must be, what, five years old? So he’s supposed to be in kindergarten during the days. Or preschool? 

Anticipating a headache coming later on, Peter sighs, rubbing at his temples. He’s going to have to research the entire night for things Derek might need. Clothes, toys, hygiene things. . . Reports on his health, the social workers coming to check his house, signing adoption papers, getting all of Derek’s info and admitting him to the schooling system. . . Five year olds do not eat baby foods anymore, right?

Hearing the splish-splash of water, Peter tunes back into the present. Derek has been listlessly cleaning himself while Peter was lost in thought, though his face and neck are still covered in black. The smell of ash and burning wood is stinking up their bathroom, something he intends to change immediately.

‘’I think I see your arms now,’’ he says not unkindly, taking the sponge. ‘’Though your face still is rather dirty. You wouldn’t mind some help, would you?’’

Not indicating one way or the other, Derek keeps his eyes strained to the end of the tub. With a shrug, Peter starts scrubbing at him, trying to keep his hands gentle.

It’s been a long while since he’s had to think about his own strength. Mostly his hands are just tools for violence, painted red with the blood of his kills. It’s not something he has to think about too often, enjoying being rough and taking what’s his.

It seems he’s going to have to learn tenderness again.

It takes some time until Derek is clean from head to toe, but at the end of it, the kid seems a lot less burdened with the smell of his dying family rinsed off of his skin. Since Peter doesn’t have any clothes the pup’s size, he dresses him in one of his most worn henley, drowning him in it.

Once he’s clean, warm and fed, Derek keeps almost nodding off at the end of the couch where Peter placed him while he made a makeshift bed for the boy. 

The storm outside has quieted down to a slight drizzle, the  _ tap-tap-tap _ of rain pittering against the window. It’ll make a good ambient noise for the kid, hopefully steering his thoughts away from the roars of fire.

‘’Ready for bed?’’ Peter asks, crouching in front of the boy. Derek hiccups, blinking his eyes tiredly open. Lips quirking up in amusement, Peter repeats himself, ‘’Ready for bed?’’

Looking around fuzzily, Derek gives a tiny shrug. The lights in the living room are dimmed down, the only source of light being the soft glow coming from the kitchen. He’s clutching at the blanket again, curling into himself.

‘’Right,’’ Peter says, and stands up. ‘’Well. This sofa will be your bed for the night.’’ Five year olds don’t need rails to not fall out, right? ‘’We’ll go down to the stores tomorrow, if the weather lets us. If you need me at any time of the night, I’ll be upstairs in my room.’’

With that, he departs, leaving the pup staring after him with wide eyes. ‘’I - ‘’ Derek starts, before clamping his mouth shut. When Peter turns with a quirk of his eyebrow, Derek avoids his gaze with trembling lips, crawling underneath his blanket.

God, Peter is so out of his depth with this.

‘’Good night, Derek,’’ he says, assessing the squirming lump. The pup doesn’t return the sentiment, but then again, Peter really didn’t expect him to. He is, after all, in a strange den, with a strange werewolf, while his pack lay dead.

Deciding to leave his bedroom door open for the night, he retires for the time being. If the storm keeps dwindling down like this, he won’t have a problem hearing if the pup is in distress.

It’s going to be fine.

  
  
  


.

.

.

  
  


Nothing is fine. For the past hour, Peter has been listening to Derek sniffle and cry in the living room, quietly begging for his ma and pa to come back and get him. Peter is both irritated and at a loss at to what to do.

Ignore the cries until Derek exhausts himself to sleep? Wait until he comes to Peter on his own? Go down and soothe the pup?

And really.  _ Peter _ ? Trying to console someone? He’s quite certain there’s not a single soothing bone in his body. 

The decision is taken from his hands when a rather loud boom startles them both, the storm gaining speed and strength again. Downstairs, Derek shrieks, starting to cry in earnest. 

Peter sighs, gathering his blanket and his pillow, before traipsing into the ground level. Derek has dropped from the sofa, miserably curled on the floor as he cries so hard even Peter winces in sympathy for his throat.

‘’Here now,’’ Peter says, laying the items on the sofa and scooping the pup up into his arms. Derek clutches at him desperately, hiding his face into the crook of Peter’s neck. Allowing this, Peter gathers Derek’s bedding and sits down on the sofa. The hail keeps pounding against the roof, making the little boy flinch every single time a distant lightning strikes. Without dislocating the pup, he manages to pull both blankets around them, shushing Derek at the same time.

He’s. . . Not used to really meaning it. He loves mockingly shushing his victims, giving him ugly pleasure at seeing them at their weakest, cooing at their helplessness. 

He’s not sure he likes this though. Derek’s scent is all bitter and muddy, something that happy children do not have. So he starts talking, since that’s something he knows always distracts his targets. ‘’Shhh, now. A lighting won’t hit a house this deep into the woods. Let me explain to you a little bit of science behind this. Thunderstorms develop when the atmosphere is unstable - this is when warm air exists underneath much colder air. As the warm air rises it cools and condenses forming small droplets of water.

‘’As the warm air continues to rise, the water droplets combine to create larger droplets which freeze to form crystals of ice. It is the result of circulating air in the clouds that water freezes on the surface of the droplet or crystal. Eventually, as the cloud continues to move and gather more ice,  the droplets become too heavy to be supported by the updraughts of air and they fall as hail.’’

Derek’s sobs quieten down, curling more towards Peter’s stomach. Peter adjusts the pup a little bit, chancing his hand to start gently caressing Derek’s back. When Derek relaxes even more at this, Peter continues.

‘’When the hail moves within the cloud, it, sort of, picks up a negative charge by rubbing against smaller positively charged crystals. A negative charge forms at the base of the cloud where all the hail collects, while the lighter ice crystals remain near the top of the cloud and create a positive charge.

‘’Now, the  _ negative charge  _ is attracted to the Earth's surface and when the attraction becomes too strong, the positive and negative charges come together, to balance the difference in a flash of lightning. It then usually strikes down towards the ground, preferring high spots, like towers and tall trees on top of mountains. Not small houses that are covered by trees.’’

‘’The boom,’’ Derek whispers hoarsely, ‘’the boom, it made fire. It - Ma, ‘n pa. . . ‘’ And then he starts crying again.

Peter cocks his head in interest, even as he squishes the boy closer. A lightning strike causing a fire that allowed fourteen werewolves to die? Not very likely. A good cover story? That it certainly is.

Growling deeply in his chest, he shifts. Derek bares his neck in instinct, even if he doesn’t really realize it. ‘’Don’t worry, little pet,’’ he snarls fiercely, though his voice is deceptively quiet, ‘’No storm can harm us here. Your uncle Peter will take care of that. You can rest assured that we’re safe.  _ You  _ are safe. There’s nothing that can get past my wards. Not lightings, not fire, and not people that cause both of those things. . . ‘’

There’s no question that he’ll have to look deeply into the Hale house fire. Hunters are quite adept at bribing and blackmailing regular folk into giving them what they want. There are the Argents in town, as well as the Bennets. And then the circling, rogue hunters that care for no territory and kill all living, innocent or not.

Trembling in earnest, Derek’s small claws spurt out again. ‘’Ma. . .  _ Pa  _ . . .’’ he sobs, drawing blood in his tiny palms. 

Peter takes the pup’s hands in his, cradling them. There’s no words he can offer right now. Derek is going to have to get through the worst of his distress on his own, because there is nothing Peter can offer him, except company and his embrace. Only time, and distance, and distraction can ease the suffering. 

‘’Alright, pup,’’ he sighs, maneuvering them both so that they’re laying down. ‘’There’s only five hours until sunrise. The storm will have passed us by then. If you close your eyes now, you’ll wake up in the morning with the sun high up in the sky.’’  

‘ _ ’Un- uncle Peter _ ,’’ the boy cries, curling between Peter and the back of the sofa. 

‘’I know,’’ Peter says sympathetically. ‘’I know. Shh. Try to sleep, Derek. I’ll be guarding us the whole night. Just sleep.’’

With a couple exhausted sniffles and deep breaths, Derek slips into slumber. Peter marvels at that. He could, under  no circumstances, fall asleep in stranger’s den, especially after such devastating loss. Children are so much more resilient than many of the hunters he’s had the misfortune to meet.

With a sigh of relief, Peter slumps into a better position, trying to prevent a crick in his neck if he has to stay at the couch the whole night. His fingers are rather itching to go and deal with the hunter, to dole out some of his frustration on him, though he knows he can’t. 

He has to make sure Derek is taken care of before anything else. Though, now that he thinks about it, deputy Stilinski has a three-year-old son of his own. Perhaps Peter can charm the man into taking Derek while he ‘runs errands’ of his own.

Yes.

That does sound like a plan to him. Surely John has enough heart to take care of a child that has just lost all but one relative. Give ‘uncle Peter’ some time to gather things the child needs, sign papers, go through the paperwork. . . Murder the people threatening his pack.

The alpha in him snarls at this. His instincts are reluctant in leaving the vulnerable pup in anyone else’s hands but his. Peter cradles the boy closer. Yes, Derek will be his now. But he will also need social growth with people other than him. He’ll need to learn to grow into a strong, independent werewolf, be smart about his relationships, about his surroundings. Derek will need to be exposed to the world, even if Peter will ensure his absolute safety in doing so.

And setting up playdates with the Stilinski’s rambunctious three-year-old, Stiles, will certainly help with that. The little hooligan is fast in his moves for such a tiny creature, if the things he’s seen at the station are anything to go by.

But first he’ll have to bond with his new pup. Make him feel at home, get him settled. Help with his grieving process. Get to know Derek better, create a familial bond between them. Get this little omega to be part of his pack, something his instincts have been screaming at him for years that he’s ignored. But he can’t anymore. 

Derek will be his, and he’ll be damned to let him go.

 

 


	3. Talking things out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter!   
> Warnings for this chapter:  
> There is talk of Kate inappropriately touching Derek in the form of hugs. Kate is honestly the worst.
> 
> Hope you guys like this!

The station is just as buzzing with activity as always. It’s torture to Peter, who knows how to control his heightened senses with ease, but he cannot fathom the strain it must be on Derek, whose control on his shift is already tenuous. 

He’s guiding the pup by his hand, nodding solemnly to the deputy sitting at the front, playing the part of a grieving family member. The deputy immediately recognizes them and stands up hastily.

‘’Mr. Hale! Uh, I, I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr,’’ the young man stutters, frantically gesturing to his coworker as his eyes switch between Peter and Derek. Poor Derek starts stalling, pushing himself behind Peter’s legs as the people around them start whispering.

‘’I was told to come by today,’’ Peter says quietly, squeezing Derek’s hand. The pup takes a hold of the helm of Peter’s shirt. ‘’Something about signing papers?’’

‘’I - Yes, the adoption papers. Um, we don’t - We can’t offer those to you just yet, as the Child Protection Services employee isn’t here yet,’’ the man says apologetically. It seems everyone is in the know of yesterday's tragedy. They are all equally thinking of Peter as Derek’s sole guardian.

Which raises a question of whether or not Peter might get a portion of the Hale inheritance. Hmm. . .

Peter lets his face fall in pretend grief. ‘’Oh - I - I must’ve misunderstood. I hoped we could’ve cleared it out quickly, so it wouldn’t drag along too far. . . For Derek’s sake. So he’s not left dangling between this. . .  This utter - ‘’ he can’t finish his sentence, choking on the words.

The young deputy freezes, his hands impotently holding out, as if to prevent Peter from having a breakdown then and there. ‘’We can call them! Right now! I - I’m sure we have the number - Tara! Oh my God, brilliant timing, do you know anything about the CPS employee? Was they scheduled to come today or?’’

The deputy, Tara, waves his coworker away. ‘’I’ll handle this. You can notify the sheriff.’’

Looking relieved, the deputy says, ‘’Thank you.’’

‘’Please, Peter, come right this way,’’ Tara says, walking towards them. They’re already familiar with each other, with how many times Peter has been taken up to questioning. ‘’While you wait for the CPS worker to arrive, you may wait in our lounge. Deputy Stilinski is already calling them, so it shouldn’t take them more than thirty minutes to get here.’’

Lifting Derek into his arms, Peter thanks her. ‘’Thank you. I apologize for not calling beforehand. I’m still rather. . . ‘’

Tara gives him a sympathetic smile as they walk towards the back of the station. ‘’As you should be,’’ she says kindly. ‘’It’s going to take time to recover from something like this. Just give yourself time to grieve and heal. We’ll make sure to do our jobs adequately enough so you don’t have to worry about anything concerning the investigation. Please, right through that door.’’

Peter steps in into a cozy room with couches and throw rugs and a small refrigerator. It’s meant to be soothing and comforting for a victim, a secure place they can be when dealing with police bureaucracy. 

Tara leaves them to it. Peter sits onto one of the plush couches, keeping Derek in his lap. The pup is silent and still, which Peter isn’t sure if it’s concerning or not. He doesn’t know the little boy well enough to know whether or not this is normal behaviour for him. If he remembers right, Derek was one of the middle kids, somewhere between Laura and Henrik, but not between youngest ones, Cora and Isla.

Taking out his phone to do business while they wait, he lets the pup settle against him. His scent wavers between consuming grief, and that odd stench of guilt that Peter still hasn’t figured a reason for yet. Though he smells absolutely foul with the sadness permeating him, nothing shows on the boy’s face. 

Answering a couple emails, as well as checking on the hunter in his cellar, deputy Stilinski pops in.

‘’Hey,’’ the man says, rather subdued. ‘’The CPS officer is ten minutes out. Are you guys hungry? Thirsty? I could go pick something up for you while we wait. It might take some time to handle all of this, and you might not be able to take a break in between.’’

‘’We could eat,’’ Peter nods, jostling Derek slightly. The pup opens his eyes, blinking against the lights, though he stays relaxed. He seems to trust Peter to know what’s best. It makes the alpha instincts satisfied within him, for the little pup to entrust his whole life in Peter’s hands when they’ve only known each other for a mere twelve hours. ‘’Are you hungry?’’ he asks the boy, to which Derek gives a minimal shrug.

‘’Something light, please,’’ Peter says to John. ‘’A couple sandwiches maybe?’’

‘’My son is barely three years old, but he knows a good mayonnaise filled ham and cheese sandwich is the best thing on earth,’’ John says. ‘’My wife is on her way over with my lunch, so would you like that? Or do you want me to go to the convenience store a couple blocks over to get you something else?’’

‘’Oh, we wouldn’t want to be a bother. Whatever you’re having is fine with us. Right Derek?’’

Derek nods solemnly. 

‘’That’s alright then. Stiles, my son, can also entertain Derek for a moment if you’d like some words alone with the CPS worker,’’ John suggests, to which Peter sighs.

‘’I’ll think about it,’’ he says, and John takes it as an answer good enough. 

‘’Good. I’ll leave you be for the moment, but I’ll be back in ten minutes.’’ Then deputy Stilinski turns to leave, but stops. He seems to think for a moment, before turning back. ‘’Oh, and Peter? I really am sorry for your loss. Talia was a very good friend of mine. She was - Everyone was - Amazing. They were brilliant people. And I’m so sorry to be witnessing such. . . Such. . . ‘’ John chokes on a sob, his eyes filling with tears. ‘’I know you weren’t that close to Talia and Robert, always just, on the fringes of the family, but they were good people. And Derek deserves the best he can get, out of this horrible situation. So if you ever need anything - Help to babysit, some advice, financial aid, just. Call me up. Alright? I’ll always lend an ear to your worries, despite my past reservations towards you.’’

Little taken aback at the outburst, Peter blinks. He’d thought he’d have to manipulate John into taking Derek over for couple hours every now and then, but if the help is this freely offered, he might as well take it. ‘’Thank you. I’ll remember this.’’

John nods, wiping at his eyes, before disappearing through the door.

With a satisfied smirk, Peter gets back to his emails. Things might work out very well for him after all.

  
  


*

*

*

*

 

The sun is still shining when they depart the station, though Peter only finds ire in it. The social worker wants to visit his house tomorrow, to check everything is on place and that Peter is capable of taking care of a child. She was sympathetic towards them, but seemed to be rather eager to be anywhere else. She barely paid Derek any attention, apart from asking him to confirm his name and that Peter was actually his uncle. 

Better for them though. Too much close scrutiny on Peter would probably end up revealing their non-relation to each other, though sans a DNA test, it can’t be proven, since they do look quite like family.

They do their shoppings quickly, buying all the essentials to Derek that fit in his car. The pup seems tired out by Stiles’ bottomless energy, the two of them having spent the day coloring books and playing hide-and-seek. He’s listing sideways in his new safety seat, eyes slipping shut and then back open. He’s clutching tightly at a shark plush toy almost his size. 

Peter’s never spared any thought to children’s toys before, but he’s surprised by the amount of options and the quality of the items. 

As he drives back to the house, he regrets not buying a pair of rubber boots to Derek. There are still puddles of water spread throughout the road, as well as his yard, some of the trees having fallen victim to the storm last night. Though, he supposes he can’t let Derek play outside until he’s put a fence in, since he’s pretty much filled the surrounding area with traps. The yard isn’t as bad, but there are things that can trigger painful surprises to those who step on them. 

He’s not careless enough to leave any discriminating evidence of his victims anywhere in sight, but the traps might raise some red flags to the social worker. 

With a sigh of the amount of work he has left to do before tomorrow, Peter gathers himself, all the stuff they bought and Derek, and brings them inside. He has a long night ahead of him.

  
  


*

*

*

*

  
  


‘’Uncle Peter?’’ a timid voice asks later that night. 

Craning his neck, Peter looks over to the doorway of his office. Derek is standing there in his dinosaur jammies, squeezing the shark against his chest. He looks tired, and lost, his eyes glowing orange. 

‘’What is it pup?’’ Peter asks, glancing at the clock. It’s ticking away past 1 AM. ‘’It’s way past your bedtime.’’ The internet had told him to put a child that age into bed at mind boggling seven or eight PM. Who goes to bed that early? Growing children apparently.

There’s no answer. Frowning, Peter looks back towards the kid, sniffing delicately to discern his mood. ‘’Did you have a nightmare?’’

Derek sucks at his lip, his chin wobbling. The odd smell of guilt and fear intensifies, before the poor little thing bursts into terrified tears. ‘’I’m sorry!’’

Up from his chair in an instant, Peter scoops the kid into his arms. Derek starts crying in earnest, his tiny claws and fangs descending. ‘’Shh, now. Derek, what is it? Tell me what’s wrong?’’

But Derek is sobbing too hard to make any sense. Though he does speak, his words mumbled, shaky mess that even Peter can’t encrypt. At a loss at what to do, Peter starts walking back and forth, swaying the kid gently. He needs to pry some clear words out of Derek’s mouth, but he can’t do that when the kid is crying this earnest. 

‘’Shh, shh. Calm down. Easy, easy, darling. It’s quite alright. If you can, try holding your breath for a moment, and then let it out on three. Okay?’’ He doesn’t wait for Derek to answer, but starts holding is own breath so the pup can mimic him. ‘’One. Two. Three. That’s it. Big gulps of air, just like that. Mm, good boy. Let’s do it again. Hold your breath. One. Two. Three. And let it out. That’s right. Then inhale deeply. Just like that, good.’’

After a moment, he gets Derek to calm down enough to be only sniffling. His eyes are swollen red, tear stains decorating his flushed cheeks as he reeks of misery. Peter sits down on his office chair, uncaring of the content displayed on his computer screen. Derek is too out of it to be understanding what’s in it, or even read it.

‘’Now tell uncle Peter what has gotten you this upset,’’ Peter coaxes, pushing some sweat slicked hairs off Derek’s forehead. ‘’I know you’re sad, but this is something else. Tell me what’s wrong.’’

Derek shakes his head. He looks dizzy. ‘’You’ll hate me. Throw me away,’’ the pup whispers, his face crunching to sign another crying bout.

Peter has to stop it before it even begins. He grabs a hold of Derek’s chin, forcing him to look up. He’s careful not to use too much force. ‘’Derek, there are very, very few things that would make me hate you, and I doubt you hit any of those categories. If I promise to not cast you away, no matter what you say in the next ten minutes, will you tell me everything that’s gotten you this upset?’’

Derek looks at him with wide, vulnerable eyes. ‘’Promise?’’

‘’I so solemnly swear,’’ Peter says, amused despite himself.

Cataloging his face for any insincerity, Derek finally slumps. He looks down to stare resolutely at his new plush toy, though his words are now clearer. ‘’Miss Kate.’’

When Derek doesn’t continue, Peter prods at him a little. ‘’Miss Kate what?’’

‘’She’s my. . . My teacher. Miss Kate.’’

‘’And what do I do with this knowledge that she’s your teacher?’’ Peter asks patiently.

Derek starts squirming, the scent of guilt and shame coming back. ‘’She says I was so smart, and that she liked me bestest than my friends.’’ Peter goes stiff at the words. Cocks his head. He wonders if this tale will really go into the direction he thinks it is. 

Derek continues in a quiet voice. ‘’She liked huggies, like me, and when I was sad she huggied me. She smelled nice. Like flowers and candy. . . But then she didn’t.’’

Alarm bells are definitely ringing in his mind and he marvels at how dense Talia and Robert have been. How have they not smelled a strange woman on their precious son? If she’s been in  _ frequent inappropriate  _ contact with Derek, her scent would have smothered everything else under it. How on earth has  _ nobody  _ in that big pack of theirs not sensed anything wrong in their child? Protected him like he would’ve deserved to be protected? ‘’I see. And why did she stop smelling nice?’’ 

Whimpering a little at the threatening voice, Derek whispers, ‘’ ‘cuz it was bad. Like. . . Like the bad stuff that stopped ma and pa and everyone.’’

A hunter then. Miss Kate?

He does know one Katherine Argent.

Selecting his next words very carefully, he asks. ‘’Did Miss Kate ever ask about your family?’’

‘’Sometimes,’’ Derek whispers.

‘’I see,’’ Peter says darkly. ‘’And did you tell her about us?’’

Curling smaller, Derek shrugs. ‘’Sometimes. She wantsed to know how big our house was. If I have brothers or sisters, or uncles. Aunties.’’ He casts a quick look up. ‘’I didn’t know uncle Peter, so I dinna tell her about you.’’

As Peter starts compiling a mental file of Kate Argent in his mind, he stays silent. He’s rather fond of Chris, his code of ethics rather remarkable compared to the crazy people his family consists of otherwise. Chris he doesn’t think would take part in such obvious manslaughter. But Gerard certainly would entertain his daughter with helping her cover her tracks. Gerard Argent is very elusive, however, liking to keep his hands clean while others do his dirty work.

Kate, on the other hand, loves to be in the thick of things. Peter’s heard quite the tales of her career, and she  _ is  _ conveniently in Beacon Hills at the  moment. Depending, of course, whether or not she has fled by now, since it has been full twenty four hours since the fire was extinguished.

The silence seems to aggravate Derek, because after a moment, he chokes out, ‘’Is ma ‘n pa dead cuz I told Miss Kate about them?’’

Without thinking, Peter responds, ‘’Undoubtedly.’’ Which sours Derek’s scent into something close to rotting. Knowing he just fucked it up, he hastily continues, ‘’But Derek, that is hardly your fault. Kate would have done this with or without you. Your family is not dead because you spoke about them. They’re dead because a skilled hunter decided to attack your family, and she would have done it unscrupulously even if she’d never met you.’’

‘’It’s my - my - my fault ma ‘n pa are - ‘’

_ ‘’No _ ,’’ Peter snarls, his eyes flashing red. He’s never used his alpha command before, but it bubbles up now, without his consent. ‘’You do  _ not  _ blame yourself. It’s not your fault. Do you understand me?’’

Derek covers away from him, cringing as he cries. His neck is bared, and he seems seconds away from pissing himself. It makes Peter force his shift back, reigning control of his emotions. It takes a moment, his rage boiling under his skin. Fuck. 

He lets out a gusty sigh. He truly can be an insensitive asshole. This is a  _ kid  _ he’s dealing with. A five-year-old that has just suffered great loss  _ and  _ been apparently inappropriately touched by an adult he was supposed to be able to trust. 

He doesn’t need to add any trauma on top of that.

Gentling his tone, he brings Derek back to his chest. He decides to appeal into the one thing he knows will make Derek truly comprehend. ‘’Your eyes are  _ orange _ , Derek. If you had killed your family, your eyes would be flashing blue. And they’re not. The fire was not your fault.’’

Derek stiffens, processing it, before he goes limp.  _ Relief  _ fills his scent, and then sadness again. ‘’I’m sorry,’’ he sobs, keeping his neck extended, trying to appease the angry alpha. 

Peter brings his hand to cover the offered skin, caress it. ‘’I’m sorry I got upset and took it out on you. That was. . . Wrong of me.  I don’t like seeing you sad, for something that is not your fault. You understand?’’

‘’I undes’tan,’’ Derek whimpers.

Peter rubs at Derek’s back for a while, letting him cry a little bit more. When he’s exhausted himself, Peter asks, out of curiosity, ‘’How did you know it was Kate who set the fire?’’

Gathering his words for a moment, Derek responds, ‘’Cuz she was there. Miss Kate was in the backyard when I gots out. She even smiled at me. She run away though. Before the people tried to wash the fire away.’’

Fingers twitching with the need to tear that pretty face of hers apart, Peter hums. He’s going to enjoy hunting her down. Thank God his cellar is well equipped and sound-proofed, because he intends to keep her for awhile. An undetermined, long, torturous while. 

The police investigation might hinder his intentions if anyone gets a whiff of the perpetrator. Peter’s quite certain that it’ll be ruled as an electrical malfunction, a very obvious hunter technique, but with Derek’s witness, things might get tricky. Deputy Stilinski is very, very good at his job, and if he finds any trace of foul play, he’ll be up in Peter’s business in no time.  ‘’When the good policemen are going to ask you, you cannot tell them that Miss Kate was in the backyard, or that she is the one that set the fire.’’

‘’Why?’’

Peter grins, sharp and feral. ‘’Because, my sweet little boy, werewolves tend to police their own. I’m going to make sure she’s never, ever going to hurt anyone again. But if I want to do that, she cannot go to jail.’’

Derek nods, wiping snot from under his nose against his sleeve. ‘’Auntie Tanya sometimes said the same thing. That hunters won’t stay in jail because they’re bad and  they pay bad people to let them out.’’

‘’Exactly,’’ Peter nods in agreement. ‘’But I have ways to ensure she is held responsible for her actions. It won’t bring your mother or father back, but I promise you one thing, Derek. I will always keep you safe, from this day onwards, for as long as I live. But for that, I need you to listen and obey your uncle Peter very carefully, when I tell you to do something. Can you do that for me?’’

‘’Yeah. You’ll keep me forever and ever?’’ Derek sniffs, hugging his shark close. 

Leaning in to embrace the kid into a tight hug, smushing Derek against his chest, Peter smiles. It’s part satisfaction, part a very sinister promise to kill  _ anyone  _ who ever dares to hurt a hair on Derek’s head. ‘’I  _ promise _ .’’

  
  



End file.
